For Better or For Worse
by sweetserenity62
Summary: At the end of Season 2, Bellamy convinced Clarke to stay. Now Clarke ponders their relationship from their favourite morning spot. A series of moments from life at Arkadia. Clarke lives her life.
1. For Better or For Worse

Clarke slides to the ground, back against the tree, her boots creating their own little dust storm as she stretches her legs out with a violent kick. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply as she feels the brush of his shoulder against hers. It feels like her first real breath of air since this time yesterday, her first moment of peace.

They just sit there, by the biggest tree on the South-East side of the wall, on the slight rise of a hill that gives them a full view of the sleeping camp. At the exact spot where a gentle beam of sunlight breaks through the leaves for a few precious moments each morning.

By the time the sunlight has moved on and left them in shade, a few early-risers are dragging themselves out of their tents and the camp is beginning to hum with the noise of life.

She turns to face him for the first time, something she delays as long as she can every morning. Before she looks, she can sketch every hair, every freckle in her mind. The lines on his forehead, the wry curl of his mouth, the patches where his jacket has faded to match the colour of the dust. She can sketch the expression in his eyes as he looks over the camp, changing from guarded to possessive, to wistful.

But when she looks, he looks back, and he is suddenly Bellamy, her partner in all things, for better or for worse. Sometimes for the very worst. But he is looking at her, not looking _to_ her like the rest of Arkadia, not trying to look for her like her mother, not looking _from_ her as the grounders look away from Wanheda.

He looks with her, and then she knows their partnership is always always for the better, and she could never capture this Bellamy on paper, no matter how many nights she spends frantically trying, no matter how much she needs to remember this and hold onto it.

But she looks at him anyway, because she can never resist it, not here in their spot. She can never resist the pleasure and the pain of becoming Clarke and Bellamy, of joining her strength and weakness to his, for better or for worse.

"Are you ready to do battle?" he asks, with a serious mouth and smiling eyes.

"Always," she answers. It will be always, she tells him with her eyes, as he gives her a hand to stand up. And he lets out a deep breath as they walk into camp, hoping to God that she is right.


	2. Dancing with Demons

The room vibrated with the beat of the music, with the stomping of dancing feet. Dainty heels and slippers had no place in Arkadia, not yet. Half of the dancers wore sturdy and practical boots, in most cases the only pair of shoes they possessed. The other half were prancing around barefooted. Clarke sat on her stool on the sidelines, watching over the proceedings with a doctor's eye, predicting queues outside the clinic in the morning, patients with bruised feet smiling through the pain, worth it for one night of feeling light-footed and free.

Clarke almost jumped out of her skin when Bellamy plopped down next to her without warning, placing a tumbler of moonshine in front of her. In her mind Bellamy had been miles away with a hunting party, tired and dirty. But here he was in front of her, looking half cleaned-up with neat hair and a fresh shirt. Only the smudge of dirt on his forehead ruined the look.

At her questioning look, he grunted and pointed at the open door.

'We found a hog a few yards out. After the tussle with it, everyone was ready to call it a day. I'm sure the rumours flying around about a dance party had nothing to do with it.'

Sure enough, Clarke could see a few men dragging the hog to the smokehouse, each looking as though they'd been dragged through a pile of mud.

'Your kill?' she questioned, squinting at the stab wound.

'I let them chase it around for a while, then went in with my spear when it was about to drop dead from exhaustion' he explained.

'Smart,' she said with a nod. 'That should keep them out of trouble tonight.'

Half of the men who signed up for the hunting parties were restless and stupid, and if they didn't burn off their energy out there they were liable to start brawling amongst themselves.

'What about you?' he asked as he stared down at his drink.

She could ramble on about her day, regaling him with the story of the idiot who came in with a bite from some sort of mutated raccoon, but she knew that wasn't what he was asking.

'No trouble for me tonight,' she answered lightly, 'I have an early shift at the clinic tomorrow.'

A shift she had signed up for the second whispers about an impromptu dance party had come her way. She couldn't stay away. She knew from experience that the music and laughter would follow her all the way to her tent, even if she pressed a pillow over her ears or tried to recite disease protocols at the top of her voice. She would lie awake tormenting herself with everything that could go wrong, from alcohol poisoning to drunken fighting. Those were the worries of Dr. Griffin. But the real torment would be the feeling that she had run away, like a scared little girl, while Arkadia whispered about her absence, feeding the image of the cold and ruthless Wanheda, who wasn't a girl at all, only a nightmare. Her nightmare.

If she sat here on the edge of things with a glass of moonshine, occasionally having a chat with Raven or Monty, she would be just Clarke Griffin, a bit distant and reserved, but one of them all the same, quietly enjoying the music. Inside she would feel alone and isolated, as though an impenetrable glass wall stood between her and the rest of the world, but most of the Arkadians would believe in the illusion. If her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and if she felt like she was about to puke, she would maintain the illusion for the sake of her sanity.

Bellamy's presence shattered the glass.

Together, they watched the remnants of the 100, noticing that Harper's smile was a shade brighter while she danced, that the edge had worn off Raven and Wick's banter. They saw that Jasper was the drunkest person in the room, but Monty was hovering over him watchfully in case his broodiness took a darker turn. Octavia's absence was obvious, but Clarke didn't miss her glares, and she knew that Bellamy was wistfully thinking of a younger Octavia, who would have been the wildest dancer in the room. When his gaze became too distant, Clarke pointed out Miller, dancing with the smallest girl in Arkadia standing on his toes, and was rewarded with a smile.

An hour after his arrival, Clarke was laughing at Bellamy's imitation of the pig wrangling, her foot tapping to the beat of the music.

If Clarke had known her laughter was the cause of the fragile hope that sprang to life in the chests of her people, she would have never set foot in another dance party again. Hope and faith were diseases, and she had meticulous protocols in place to avoid them. When Raven came to her with plans for more permanent structures in the camp, she would only say 'bring it to a council meeting after winter.' When her mother made noises about trusting her judgement at the clinic, she would respond by asking for second opinions on her toughest cases. She didn't want to be Arkadia's Princess, to lead and inspire. She was a doctor. A soldier. A useful tool. She had tried to be more once, and it had felt as natural as breathing to take up the reins of leadership. But she had become Wanheda and she would never let Wanheda step foot in Arkadia again.

Monty sidled up to Raven and interrupted her latest argument with Wick.

'Why aren't they dancing?' he growled. 'Do you know how hard it was to plan an "impromptu" party when they were both available? That stupid hunting trip almost ruined everything.'

Raven patted him on the shoulder.

'Relax. You know Bellamy, he won't ask until he knows the answer will be yes. There will be other parties.'

Monty sighed and downed another glass of moonshine. His best batch of moonshine sacrificed to the cause, and they spent all night chatting in a corner. He had watched them from afar on that trek back from Mt Weather. Clarke had been ready to flee, to run away and never look back. Bellamy had let go of his pride, his prickly and stubborn pride, and he had asked her to stay. Monty owed them both his life. Mt Weather still haunted him every minute of every day. He needed to believe in something or he would break. He couldn't believe in Earth or Arkadia, in love or happy endings. So he had chosen to believe in them, in something that was real and fierce in the face of unspeakable horror. He would just have to keep trying until they took the bait.

Their talk was like a dance. Bellamy would tell funny stories and she would follow his lead with her own. Then when they were breathless with laughing he would twirl her round and suddenly they were talking about Abby. When it started to get too close to her open wounds, she would take a step back, and he would let her widen the distance between them a few inches, without pausing in the dance. By the time the next song started, they would be almost chest to chest, and their talk would halt for a moment as she got caught up in his eyes. One last twirl to distract her before she pulled away, and they were laughing once again at his impression of Murphy.

'Looks like the dance is wrapping up,' Bellamy observed, watching Monty turn people away from his makeshift bar.

'Mmm,' she hummed noncommittally.

'The sky's pretty clear tonight, we should be able to see the stars. I had a few ideas about using the stars for navigation.'

After one last look around the room, she grabbed his hand, and they walked slowly to their favourite spot to lie down on the grass for a while and look at the stars. She didn't point out the fact that wandering around at night was a risk no one would be taking anytime soon.

She wasn't ready for the dance to end.


	3. Quarantine

Clarke watched through the glass as her mother poked and prodded Bellamy, running every test she could think of from checking his temperature to having him walk in a straight line. If she was hampered by the unwieldy spacesuit, Clarke couldn't see any signs of it. Her mother had worked in a spacesuit before- though rare, there were occasional oxygen malfunctions on the Ark. Abby had never volunteered any details, and Clarke could guess that those incidents hadn't had happy endings.

Abby caught Clarke's gaze, and finished up with a squeeze of Bellamy's shoulder and a few murmured words before she left the quarantine chamber and sealed it behind her. It was a tiny airlock, with a mattress and chair shoved in. It had been chosen for the airtight door, not for comfort. The memory of the people who had been floated out of the airlock gave the space a very hostile vibe. And the resemblance- something about the sterility of the room, the glass windows…

'Don't let any of the kids from Mt. Weather see this,' Clarke demanded of her mother as she stripped out of the spacesuit. 'Not even Miller or Monty.' Clarke had vivid memories of staring at Monty through a glass window just like this one, shouting out desperately though he couldn't hear a word. This airlock wasn't sound proof, but Clarke couldn't shake the feeling that Bellamy was unreachable.

Bellamy must have read the look in her eyes. 'You always worry too much Clarke. I'm sure it's just some kind of mutant flu or something. I'll be out of here as soon as Warden Abby gives me the all clear.'

Clarke sighed and looked to her mother for her diagnosis.

'The symptoms seem mild so far. He's running a minor fever, pupils dilated, some congestion of the lungs. It could just be a case of the flu,' Abby said in her calmest doctor voice.

'But the green bile…'

'Could have any number of causes. We're just being extra cautious after the virus the grounders spread through the dropship. A few days of observation won't hurt him,' Abby said wryly.

'What can I do?' Clarke demanded.

'Go get something to eat!' Bellamy shouted. 'I spent a whole day hunting that stupid panther, and now I'm stuck on this gruel.'

Abby sided with Bellamy and practically pushed her out the door.

Clarke managed to stay away for an hour before she was drawn back to the airlock like a magnet. Bellamy was lying on the mattress, bouncing a rubber wall off the wall. Clarke looked around in vain for a chair before sitting on the floor with her back against the airlock wall. She figured Bellamy would be more honest if she couldn't see his face anyway.

'How are you feeling?' She called out.

'Ah,' Bellamy replied, 'I see you share your mother's favourite question.'

She waited silently for a real answer. Two minutes ticked by, and she was just about to give in when he spoke up.

'A little foggy, but mostly OK. I'm going out of my mind with boredom.'

Clarke knew he would be. From the moment they had landed on the ground, there was always some task that needed doing, some problem to be dealt with. None of them were used to just sitting around, stuck in their own head. And Bellamy's head wasn't exactly a calm and peaceful place these days, if it ever was. Perhaps for a few years when he was a kid, before he was burdened with the dangerous secret of Octavia's existence.

'Raven's been working on some new flares, to replace our lost supply,' Clarke volunteered.

'Of course she is. She seems to have a fixation on jobs with risks of explosion. Tell her to be careful, we can't have our best mechanic blown up. I've spoken with some of the other engineers and most of them are idiots.'

'I'll tell her,' Clarke promised.

The reminder that he couldn't tell her himself must grate, Clarke thought. Maybe she could send Raven over to him, and he could yell at her from his cell. Clarke couldn't help but think of it that way, as a cell. Whatever the reason, he was locked up in there for the time being. Perhaps he thought of it as a punishment for all the things he felt guilty about. Clarke knew that she would if the situation were reversed.

'Tell me a story,' Clarke prompted. 'Octavia told me you were something of a master story-teller.'

'Have you heard the one about Persephone?' He asked.

'No,' she lied with a smile. She had a feeling that Bellamy's spin on the story would be interesting, considering his former audience.

'Once there lived a beautiful maiden, beloved by her mother and brother…'

Clarke laughed as he told her how the fierce brother rescued Persephone from the underworld, restoring her to her place in the light, where she frolicked among the butterflies. She figured that last detail was a new addition to the story. It seemed Bellamy had always had a thing for playing the knight, though he would never admit it.

She looked up and she saw Abby staring down at her, a strange look in her eye.

'Off to bed,' she instructed. 'It's past midnight.'

The storytelling had made her feel like a little girl again, and she almost wanted to beg her mother for a few more minutes. But she could barely hold back a yawn, so she said goodbye to Bellamy and trudged off to her tent. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, for her first good night's sleep in a long time. Maybe she should ask Bellamy for a bedtime story every night.

The clinic was quiet on the next day, so Clarke spent most of her time chatting with Bellamy. She gave him updates about the goings on around camp, and then they resorted to silly games to stave off boredom. They were in the middle of a riveting game of I Spy when she heard was a hacking cough.

'Bellamy?' she asked as she stood up and peered into the cell. He was coughing violently into a bucket.

'Just a little cough. Give a guy some privacy Clarke,' he groaned.

She gave into his request and turned around, but snuck glances in every few seconds to make sure he wasn't lying in a puddle of vomit.

After an awkward five minutes, Bellamy guessed 'dust filtration valve' correctly and they continued with their game. As time went by, he started to become groggy, and she could see his fever was spiking from the blush on his cheeks. She was shooed away when Abby came to give his check-up, and reluctantly headed for her own bed.

When Clarke checked on him the next morning he was looking pretty rough. She suspected he'd had a sleepless night, and the bucket next to the bed gave her an idea as to why. This time she suggested a game of Battleship to distract him, and for a while it seemed to work. They didn't have much in the way of physical board games on the Ark, so their version was something of a memory game, keeping track of which of your own and your rival's ships had been blown up. It also involved a lot of cheating. When Bellamy let slide her ridiculous claim that B5 was clear, she knew something was wrong. When Bellamy let her win the game without putting up a fight, her worry became serious. After a few moments he started babbling.

'The young red-headed guard, Nicholas, he isn't ready for action yet, so don't let them send him out on that scouting mission next week,' Bellamy said.

'Bellamy-,' Clarke protested.

'And Jasper needs to get his head out of his ass already. I know you feel guilty but you need to step up and be the bad cop. You were always good at that with me.'

'But you can-'

'And tell Octavia that I love her. Tell her she's brave and beautiful and she can conquer the entire Earth if she wants to, but right now she's being a stubborn idiot -'

Clarke hit the red button and then she was slamming the door shut behind her as she dashed into the airlock. Bellamy gave her a wild-eyed look of shock from where we was sitting leaning against the bed. Clarke ignored his sputtering and knelt down next to him, taking his face in her hands. She calmly proceeded to check his pupil dilation and pulse, to feel his forehead. Finally, she took both of his hands in hers and looked him straight in the eye.

'I'm not going to say that to Octavia, she'd bite my head off,' she said.

'I feel like crap Clarke, I really don't think I'll-'

She cut him off by slapping her hand over his mouth.

'Shh,' she said, 'You're going to be fine. Your fever's starting to break, and nine times out of ten that's a sign of recovery.'

He tore her hand away. 'And if I'm that tenth person? What were you thinking Clarke, this virus could be anything,' he shouted.

'Then Arkadia could use a back-up test subject,' she said with a smile.

'Your mother is going to kill you,' he replied.

She scooted over next to him and rested her head on his shoulder, dragging the blanket from the bed down over them.

'Just shut up and get some sleep. You look like crap.'

They both drifted off somehow, and Clarke woke up feeling his eyes resting on her.

'Morning,' she greeted cheerfully, stretching out.

'You're in quarantine Clarke. Why so chipper?'

'This just feels better somehow, with both of us on this side of the glass,' she said.

'You're crazy,' he said, but she could tell that he agreed, that he felt the same sense of rightness.

They both knew their peace would be short-lived. Abby would freak out when she came by for his next check-up. Until then, they just sat quietly sprawled out on the floor, wrapped up in their blanket. Now that Bellamy's hysteria has passed and they were both wide awake, she couldn't bring herself to go back to the almost-cuddling from last night. She scooted over a little, but left their legs touching.

'It's time, Clarke,' Bellamy said out of nowhere.

She peered at the glass window. 'I don't see my mother-'

'It's time for you to get involved again, to stop going through the motions like a ghost. The way you acted yesterday, those instincts, Arkadia needs that. They need you,' he said fiercely.

'Need the Princess? Wanheda? I can't play those roles anymore Bellamy, I just want to be-'

'Clarke,' he finished, 'Just Clarke Griffin, that's all you have to be. You've had years of practice.'

She was still shaking her head.

'I don't even know who that is anymore.'

'I do,' he promised, 'And you're ready to get back in the game. I know you think you screwed up, but the fact that you keep agonising over it makes you a better person than half those politicians on the Council.'

She looked away. 'I wish I could believe that. I really do,' she whispered.

'Just think about it,' he insisted. 'Your mother said she wants a rep from the 100 on the Council.'

'What about you?' she asked. 'You know you'd have the vote of every one of them.'

'You think that they're scared of you, but they aren't. Not our people. You came through for them. They'd follow you anywhere,' he said.

Clarke just shook her head, her eyes becoming moist.

'And I would never do it without you. We don't work well apart. I need you to call me out on my bullshit.'

Clarke had tried to make it look like she'd broken the barrier yesterday out of medical concern, or to soothe his pain, but for just a split second that thought had crossed her mind. I can't do this without him. And Bellamy clearly wanted to lead again, to take care of their motley crew of delinquents. If he needed her to do that, she couldn't deny him that after everything he'd done for her. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting that just yet.

She stood up and walked to the other side of the room.

'Where's that ball you had yesterday? I want to see how far your reflexes have deteriorated while you've been moping around in here,' she teased.

A second later she caught the ball when it was an inch away from hitting her in the eye.

After much lecturing on Abby's part, she told Clarke to settle in. Bellamy was cleared two days later when his symptoms faded, but Clarke was stuck in quarantine for another three days, despite her lack of symptoms. Bellamy chose to stay with her, claiming to enjoy his time off from camp chores.

A day after their release, Clarke crossed Bellamy's path on her way to the clinic. She halted him with a hand on his shoulder.

'Let's do this. Round up the troops.'


	4. Let the Rain Fall

Clarke heard the footsteps over the roar of the wind and the pounding of the rain. They were the footsteps of someone who knew how to glide soundlessly through the forest when necessary, but was deliberately making their presence known. The footsteps of someone smart enough to know that sneaking up on a person outside the walls of Arkadia, and sometimes even within the walls, was liable to end with a knife held against their throat. Not as an attack, but as a defence. Bellamy had been working with Jordan, a weathered guard who had seen all kinds of stir-crazy aboard the Ark, to help the Arkadians learn the difference. Every one of them was dealing with some form of PTSD, and for the sake of peace in the camp, it was decided that no one would be issued a weapon until they could fight their instincts, and be trusted not to jump at shadows or shoot first and ask questions later. And no one wanted to run around unarmed. The system seemed to be working. They hadn't had any misplaced self-defence accidents for four days.

'Octavia,' Clarke greeted, keeping her head bowed down against the rain. She had become quite familiar with Octavia's silences. There was a very specific kind of hostility in them, with a dash of disappointment and wounded pride.

'Are you crazy, Griffin?' she shouted, the wind sending her voice echoing through the clearing. 'Get out of the rain. Bellamy's busy, he won't come chasing after you today.'

Clarke ignored her, closing her eyes and holding out her arms to feel the full power of the Earth washing over her. It was funny the way people described storms like this, as the Earth's fury or punishment. Clarke had certainly felt that way in the past, cursing the Earth for leaving them all wet and miserable, for bringing colds and leaving them on rations when they couldn't hunt or forage. Today felt different. She had wandered out of camp, with the intention of letting out all the sadness and anxiety and fear that had been threatening to drown her all week. As she and Bellamy held meetings with the 100 and worked to put together proposals for the Council, she had smiled and chatted, putting forth a friendly face for her people. The harder she tried to be positive and envision a happy future for them all, the more her darkest feelings fought back against it.

But she had knelt in this clearing a mile or so from camp, and the tears had not come. The storm had washed everything else away until all that was left was the strength in her core. Once she knew the strength was there, she felt like she could wield it. Not with a gun or a sword, but with her imagination. For the first time she really believed that she could do something good for her people again, that they could build a new place for themselves on the ground. It wouldn't be a harmonious Eden. It wouldn't be the dropship. But it would be theirs.

Octavia swore at her and grabbed at her arm to yank her up. Clarke twisted out of her grip and she dug her free hand into the mud. In a quick motion she flung the mud at Octavia, splattering her arm and shirt. Octavia gave her a look of disbelief, but Clarke only had the urge to laugh. And she gave in to it. Clarke stood up on her own, not even making a futile gesture to brush off the dirt. The rain would wash it away eventually. In the meantime, she felt like drawing. She was sure Bellamy would appreciate the look on his sister's face. She walked back to camp at a leisurely pace, and for once her thoughts were only on the here and now, on the ground beneath her feet.


	5. Campfire

'To us!' Monty toasted, clicking his glass of moonshine against Harper's. He was echoed with enthusiasm by the rest of the group. 'To the Mooners!' Jordan shouted in return. Clarke choked on her moonshine. Some of the younger kids had been trying out new nicknames, and that had been one of the classier options. 'The 100' felt like a slap to the face, considering how many they had lost. And the most hated tag of all was 'the kids' as the outsiders liked to call them. Clarke had spoken to Abby about it yesterday. She couldn't think of anything more likely to lead to a rampant adolescent rebellion. They were enough of a handful as it was.

This particular campfire had been unofficially claimed as their own. It was away from the main Ark buildings and tents, giving them an illusion of privacy. It was still within viewing range of Bellamy's tent, which had been one of Abby's conditions for ignoring any minor rule breaking that took place under the cover of darkness. The threat of Bellamy's wrath kept any late stragglers from being too rowdy. A tired Bellamy was a grumpy Bellamy, and a grumpy Bellamy had a tendency to assign more people than necessary to latrine duty.

Bellamy wasn't grumpy tonight. The new cabin had been his project, from start to finish, and he was practically glowing with pride. It was a prototype, their first attempt at a permanent structure outside the Ark. It didn't have a purpose yet, because that would have left the project stalled whilst all kinds of political arguing raged on. Clarke was pretty sure the cabin would be designated an emergency shelter, and a few cots would be set up that the orphaned kids could use without having to take 'charity'. Clarke jumped on any sniffle or red nose as a chance to make them spend a night in the warmth of the medbay, but they were getting sick of that game. It was sturdy and plain now, but she knew Octavia had plans for a garden.

She met Octavia's gaze across the fire, and held it until the other girl looked away. She was through being intimidated by Octavia. As Clarke had started to gain her confidence back, she had begun to resent Octavia's silent treatment, until she was matching her glare for glare. They had been circling each other warily for the last few weeks, but eventually they would have it out once and for all. Bellamy had wisely chosen to stay out of it. Octavia was more than just Bellamy's little sister. Once, they had almost been friends, those two wounded girls that stepped off the dropship. But Clarke had made mistakes, and Octavia had passed her judgement. Clarke would meet Octavia's ice with civility, because she felt like she owed it to that carefree ghost of a girl, but she would not be scared away.

Clarke laughed as Monty did an impression of Kane thanking the 'Mooners' for their work on the cabin, as more ideas were bounced around the campfire. This was her third campfire night. The first time she had shown up, they had all gawked at her until she had downed three cups of moonshine and introduced them to an old drinking game her father had taught her. By the end of the night she had earned a regular place at the campfire. She had deliberately chosen a night when Bellamy was away, to prove that she could do it without using him as a crutch. They had been together more than they had been apart over the last few weeks, and Clarke had realised she needed to bond with her people on her own terms. And if things went awry she didn't want him to witness her making a fool of herself. When he had seen her at the campfire the next week he had taken it in stride.

Now, this felt right. There was something about the warmth of the fire, the roughness of the log seats and the way the shadows danced. It created a sense of comradery and freedom that opened her up in a way she had never felt before. She had been close to these people in the face of danger and adrenaline, but this simple campfire had a power of its own.

Basking in its warmth, she turned to Bellamy and held out her hand.

'Get up,' she demanded.

He rose slowly, trying to read her mood. Before he could speak, she dragged him over to an area clear of logs, and placed her hands on his shoulders. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see his reaction, and started swaying gently. She held her breath for a few seconds, and then felt his hands on her waist. They were warm from the fire, and she could feel it through her shirt. A few minutes later he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a waltz, and then she had to open her eyes to avoid tripping over his feet. After she regained her balance, she finally looked up at him. There was a fire in his eyes, and he started to lean slowly towards her. She took a stepped backwards, eyes still locked on his, hands still clasped, and then her feet were flying across the ground as she danced faster and faster. He followed her lead and matched her step for step. They were whirling around the campfire, as though performing an ancient ritual, dancing between the stars and the flames. He pulled her to a stop and let go, leaning over with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. As she glanced around, she noticed that the campfire was now surrounded by dancers, who they had weaved around without even a thought.

'Slow down Clarke,' he said. 'We have all night for dancing.'

And she knew that he understood. Their dance was just beginning, and they had all the time in the world.


	6. No War Paint

Clarke peered around the wall, tracking Octavia's movements. She had been trying to catch her alone for days, but Octavia was in constant motion, readying supplies for her trip into Grounder territory to find Lincoln. She had spent the past few weeks trying to gather intel, and then the last few days smashing through all of the Council's protests. She had been very aggressive about it, and the only reason she wasn't in handcuffs was because her friends had played diplomat on her behalf. The Council had reluctantly admitted that they owed Lincoln a debt. Now she would have any supplies she needed, and a letter from Kane stating his support. The letter also stated that Octavia had no authority whatsoever to promise anything from Arkadia, and Arkadia was still officially furious at Lexa for the Mt. Weather betrayal. There would be no mending of alliances.

Clarke darted back around the wall when Octavia made a sudden movement to reach for her satchel. She cursed her own cowardice. She and Octavia had existed side by side in this small camp for weeks. They had exchanged civil and uncivil words, from 'pass the bandage' to 'shut up'. And Octavia was leaving. No matter how ugly this conversation got, she wouldn't have to deal with the fallout. She took a deep breath, pretended she hadn't been hiding around the corner like an idiot, and walked over to Octavia.

Octavia didn't acknowledge her presence, but the stiffness of her posture showed she knew exactly who was standing behind her.

Clarke placed her papers on the bench next to Octavia's rations.

'Here,' Clarke murmured. 'These might help.'

Clarke wouldn't have been surprised if the force of Octavia's glare turned her to stone.

'I don't want your help. Who the hell do you think you-'

Octavia paused mid-sentence as she caught sight of the top paper. 'How…'

Clarke cleared her throat nervously. 'I thought a picture might help, with the language barriers. Lincoln has a distinctive face. And it might serve as proof of your relationship.'

The picture was a little rushed, as even with Finn's pencils she had never had many spare moments to waste on drawing. But she thought she had captured a certain something anyway, a little of Lincoln's expression as he held Octavia. They had both changed since then, of course, became harder. But their essence was still the same. The grounders wouldn't care about the differences the way she did. Clarke had spent half the night staring at that picture, willing Lincoln to come back before Octavia set off. She spent the other half wishing for that younger version of Octavia, the one that waltzed into the dropship after secret romantic liaisons with a glow on her face. But she knew how useless wishing was. She had tried to create a fresh drawing, but her memory had faltered, and nothing came out as close as the original.

'Look underneath,' Clarke said, pointing at the thick pile of papers under the drawing. 'I've written down everything I could think of.'

Clarke really had written down everything. It had started out as a list of names from Lexa's inner circle, but it had become a sprawling document. Part battle strategy, part confession. She had spared no scruples for Lexa's privacy or her own. Clarke had started with the story of Costia. She knew Octavia was jaded enough to see it the way she did. Lexa's past might stop her from executing Lincoln unnecessarily, but she would not show mercy out of sentiment. After Mt. Weather, she would have something to prove. She would have her full warrior paint on.

Clarke had taken hers off. She had bared her soul on a ragged strip of paper. There would never be enough words, enough excuses. All she could offer was the truth.

Octavia's guard dropped for a moment. From the shock on her face, Clarke knew that either Octavia had been talking to Bellamy, or the siblings shared their powers of observation. Clarke shied away from anything to do with Lexa, from much more than a distant diplomatic offense. Then the moment passed, and Octavia shook her head.

'You don't get to play the hero now. This is all your fault. His life was worth nothing to you. My life-'

Clarke held up her hand. 'It's all there, Octavia. Everything I could possibly say to you. If it's not enough, it's not enough.'

Clarke knew that what Octavia wanted was a screaming match, an excuse to vent her anger and hurt feelings. Octavia might feel vindicated for a few minutes, but then she would realise they were back at the start, only with her wounds more raw and exposed. Clarke hadn't really made peace with her mother until she was standing right on the edge of a cliff, in her shoes. Clarke would rather stay at war with Octavia if it kept her away from that cliff.

Octavia was clearly not pacified. She walked up to Clarke and gave her a rough shove. Clarke just took a step backwards, keeping out of arm's reach.

'Lincoln needs you at full strength. If you want a fight when you come back, you know where to find me.'

Octavia's eyes narrowed, and Clarke knew she was thinking about the tent they had both been spending a lot of time at lately.

'You still don't have it, you know. My blessing. You never will,' Octavia vowed fiercely.

Clarke lifted her head and held Octavia's gaze. 'I never asked for it.'

Octavia huffed and stomped away, but she took Clarke's papers with her.

'Be careful,' Clarke whispered to the wind. Octavia could hate her forever if she wanted to. Clarke would still be standing there, watching her back.


	7. This is War

Clarke and Bellamy stood back-to-back, behind a tree.

'How much ammo do you have left?' Clarke whispered.

'Enough for three shots. You?'

'None. Can I borrow one of yours? I have a clear shot at a target, about thirty degrees to my left.'

Bellamy shuffled around and followed her gaze. He grinned widely. 'I've wanted to get that bastard all day. Go for it.'

Clarke took the ammo from Bellamy, and slowly inched forward, eyes glued to her target.

'One, two, three…AHHRRR!'

Clarke let out a wild war cry as she launched herself forward, throwing the balloon right at Jasper's head.

Jasper dropped his own balloon in shock, and ended up soaking wet from top to bottom.

'You told me you were out of ammo ten minutes ago!' Jasper protested, shaking his head to fling off the water.

Clarke turned back to Bellamy for a high five. 'Teamwork,' she explained.

'Oh sure,' Jasper said, voice laced with sarcasm, 'All bow to our mighty King and Queen.'

Clarke just laughed. 'Hear that Bellamy? I got a promotion.'

The laughter cut off abruptly as a twig snapped, and Bellamy chucked a balloon in the direction of the sound. There was silence. Clarke scanned the clearing, seeing nothing but a few wet patches and burst balloons. She took a step backwards and hit Bellamy's chest, as he raised his hands to her shoulders. He squeezed them gently, and whispered in her ear, 'I think it was just a false alarm. A bird, maybe-'

Clarke gasped as she was suddenly drenched in icy cold water, turning around to see Octavia and Raven standing a foot away to Bellamy's left, pointing and laughing. Bellamy had taken the brunt of the attack, and she could feel him shivering next to her. She tilted her head to the side. His hair was a mess, and she had to resist the temptation to push a wet curl out of his eye. It would ruin the effect of his glare.

Clarke looked back to Raven at the sound of her voice.

Raven was explaining their sneaky tactics to Jasper. 'We threw a rock over there, and waited for Bellamy to turn away so we could get him from behind. It was just luck that Clarke moved into range. Two birds with one stone.' Raven and Jasper put their heads together, planning an attack on Monty and Harper on the other side of the tree line.

Octavia stood In front of Bellamy, a grin on her face. 'Miss me, big brother?' Before he had a chance to respond, she tackled him, trying to wrestle away his last balloon.

Registering Octavia's good cheer, Clarke looked around and spotted Lincoln leaning against a tree. She walked over to him and faltered, unsure of what to say.

'I thought I'd stay out of the line of fire,' Lincoln explained with a wry grin, solving her dilemma. 'I've already had a bath in the river today.'

'It's good to see you,' Clarke said. 'How are you?'

'Happy,' Lincoln stated simply, watching the Blake siblings roll around on the floor.

'Me too,' Clarke replied. Happiness had been a foreign word for such a long time. Even before the dropship, she couldn't remember ever being this happy. There hadn't been room, on the Ark, for happiness this strong and wild. It would have torn their society apart. Happiness. There was so much room for happiness here on the ground, if they could only find it and hold on to it.

'And physically?' Clarke asked, looking over him for injuries.

'I'm fine,' he answered. 'Trikru held me for a week then dumped me in the middle of nowhere. I was a little hungry and lost, but not hurt.'

That was a huge weight off Clarke's shoulders. Lincoln explained how Octavia had stumbled into him a week ago, two days after she had left Arkadia, and they had taken the slow route home. Lincoln spoke of fate and destiny the way he spoke of wind and rain. Clarke was more inclined to put it down to Lincoln's navigational skills and Octavia's determination, but she would let them enjoy their romance.

There was a loud pop as the balloon burst over Bellamy and Octavia, each with a hand on it. Mutual destruction instead of surrender. Bellamy stood up first and offered Octavia a hand. She used it to yank him back down and then gracefully leaped up out of his reach. Octavia ignored Bellamy's groans about traitorous sisters, and walked over to Clarke and Lincoln.

Clarke quickly searched Octavia for weapons with her eyes. She found nothing, but she was hardly comforted. Clarke actually flinched as Octavia leaned towards her, and only relaxed slightly when she realised Octavia was hugging her. It was the stiffness of the hug that convinced Clarke that it wasn't an illusion or a trick. She hugged her back just as Octavia went to pull away, and held on for a few seconds longer.

Octavia stepped back and gave her a nod. 'Thank you,' she said gravely.

'But you didn't need my intel,' Clarke said. 'Lincoln told me you didn't run into any grounders.'

Octavia turned her face away, but Clarke could see that her eyes were suspiciously shiny.

'I needed it,' Octavia whispered.

Clarke knew that they would talk about it, someday. It wasn't in either of them to just let things go. But the hug had told her the most important things, and everything else could wait.

They were at war, after all. The group scattered as Jasper and Raven raced through the clearing making siren noises. They were pursued by Monty, Harper and a crew of youngsters. Clarke realised that they were all out of balloons, but knew that they would go down fighting anyway. Soon the clearing was filled with splashes of water and laughter.

Later, as Clarke walked back into camp, her hand in Bellamy's, surrounded by her friends who all looked like drowned rats, she thought that life couldn't get much better than this.


	8. Picnic

Clarke took a moment to appreciate the view. The crew was splitting logs for a new cabin, and most of the men had chosen to strip off their shirts in the blazing sun. Her fun was short-lived, as Miller noticed her watching and straightened up.

'Bellamy!' he shouted, 'You're done for the day!'

Bellamy gave him a puzzled look. 'It's only noon. I think the power's getting to your head. What kind of foreman halts work in the middle of the day?'

Clarke moved into his field of vision. 'Is that Bellamy Blake, accusing someone else of letting power get to their head?' she asked, amused.

Bellamy clearly sensed a plot afoot. He kept silent, staring them down. It was one of his new tactics. Bellamy's 'serious' stare usually had delinquents confessing to a long list of past and future pranks within seconds. Clarke and Miller were not intimidated.

'I'm here to kidnap you,' she said, with a smile full of sunshine.

Bellamy sighed and gave in to the inevitable. Clarke could be persuasive when she was in a righteous fury, but when she smiled at him like that she was an irresistible force. He was lucky she had spent so much of the early days being serious and worried, or he would have fallen at her feet. Plus, it looked like she had food in that little basket she was holding, and he hadn't eaten anything today.

Twenty minutes later Clarke was leading him on a twisting path through the woods. She wasn't following any natural or man-made path that he could see, but she was weaving between trees and boulders without any hesitation. He could only hope that she wasn't taking him to some deserted spot where she could knock him out with a shovel and bury the body.

Finally, light broke through the thick trees, and they stepped out into a clearing. Clarke gestured at it with a little flourish and a look of pride. It was small, with a river on one side and the circle of trees they had just came through forming a wall on the other. The ground was covered sparsely with grass, and there were a few little flowers here and there.

'Daises?' he asked.

'Yes,' Clarke answered. 'How did you know what they were?'

'I went through a botany phase. I'd read the story of Narcissus to Octavia, and she wanted to know what they looked like. That was just before she was discovered and arrested. I never did get the chance to show her the book I'd found.'

There was pain in his voice, but it was an old pain. On those lonely days with only a silly botany book for distraction, he had thought he would never see his sister again. Now they were both here on the ground, and they didn't need any musty old books. They had the real thing. He would take one of these daisies back to Octavia, and it would a nice gesture, but no big deal. And that was the special part. That he could bring her a hundred flowers, a hundred memories.

He watched Clarke run her hand through the river, and thought about a few of the memories they had already made. Two weeks had passed since the night they spent dancing by the light of the campfire. Days of eating meals together, of laughing at each other's jokes, of sharing looks across crowded rooms. Nights of long conversation, of holding hands, of saying goodnight. Always saying goodnight.

Clarke stood up and pulled out a piece of canvas. She laid it on the ground and started to arrange food over it in a neat pattern. 'How do you feel about apples and smoked bacon?' She asked.

They were lying down side-by-side, stomachs full. Clarke stretched out lazily, fingertips touching the river. The clearing was small enough that she almost stretched the full length across from river to trees. It was cozy.

They were talking about the kitchen roster when Bellamy leaned over and kissed her. Clarke wasn't caught by surprise. Every moment on the ground had been leading up to this. She had been aware of his every move since they sat down in the clearing. Her whole body had been tense in anticipation, and the longing had been so strong she had been on the verge of melting.

His lips were warm and rough. One hand curled into her hair, and the other slowly moved down her side to her waist and pulled her in gently. Clarke had no patience, no room for thought. She just grasped his shoulders with both hands and pressed her lips against his with all the strength she had. Bellamy was the first to break away, gasping for breath.

'Look, Clarke, I know you don't want me to say this, but I-'

'I love you,' Clarke said, cutting him off with a hand over his mouth. 'I'm sorry, but I had to say it first.'

He pulled her hand away. 'Clarke, I know you're competitive, but this isn't a race.'

'It's not that,' Clarke said earnestly, shaking her head. 'It's complicated.'

There was a pause as Clarke gathered her thoughts.

I'm not scared of loving you. I've been doing that for a while now. But being loved… that terrifies me.'

'I know,' Bellamy said, squeezing her hand.

'What happens when we aren't on the same page anymore?' She said, thinking about her parents, about Finn, about Lexa. 'I don't ever want to see my knife in your back.'

'I know you've seen some bad examples, but love isn't usually quite so violent.'

'We feel responsible for our people. We have strong opinions, and we're stubborn. If we both think we know what's best, and neither of us will walk away… '

'Then we'll argue,' Bellamy countered. 'Just like before, on the dropship. We'll scream and rant and work things out. We're good at that. We've had lots of practice.'

'Do you really think it's that simple?' Clarke asked.

'Oh, it won't be simple. It will be hard and messy. But I believe in us.'

Clarke looked into his eyes, and saw nothing but sincerity. 'I believe in us too.'

This time it was Clarke that initiated the kiss. Bellamy responded a little too enthusiastically, and her back hit the ground hard. Clarke retaliated with a push of her own, and soon they were rolling around in the grass, arguing between kisses.

'Now I have dirt in my hair.'

'That was your own fault Clarke, you've been lying on the ground for the past hour.'

'With my head on a blanket!'

'I'll help you wash it later. Now, will you shut up and let me kiss you?'

Eventually Bellamy pulled away and gestured at the sky. 'Sunset,' he said.

'Yes Bellamy, it's very pretty,' Clarke said as she leaned back in.

'Do you really feel like traipsing through the woods in the dark?' Bellamy asked.

Clarke let out a resigned sigh. 'I guess not.' She stood up lazily. 'You know I wasn't kidding about that dirt in my hair. And you look like you've been caught up in a storm.'

Bellamy laughed. 'There's a river right there,' he pointed out.

She shook her head. 'Too cold.'

'Well, if we walk into camp like this there'll be whistles and jokes about it for weeks. The river might be the lesser of two evils.'

Clarke thought about it for a moment. 'No, we'll let them have their fun. It will make it easier for us to have ours.'

'Ah,' Bellamy said with a smug grin. 'Good point.'

They packed up their picnic supplies and headed back to camp. If there were a few detours along the way, a few rest stops against sturdy trees, that was between them and the forest.


	9. Happily-ever-after

Clarke squinted at the page, trying to work out what was wrong. She made the line of the eyebrows thicker. There was a rustling noise from the other end of the bed. 'Keep still,' she admonished.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. 'Just testing your skills. How many things in nature sit still while you draw them?'

'Fine, but don't blame me if you end up looking like a mutant.'

Bellamy was right though. She had grown up drawing on the Ark, where most things were motionless, in the same place every day. On the ground everything was always moving, always changing. It was beautiful and frustrating at the same time. Much like today's subject. But this wasn't really about the drawing anyway. That was just an excuse. Now that they had confessed their love, she _just couldn't stop looking at Bellamy_. She had lost count of the amount of times she had found herself staring at him with a goofy smile on her face. If the sappiness wasn't mutual, she would have felt like an idiot.

So this afternoon she had dragged him away to their tent, and demanded he sit still so she could sketch him. It was a chance to get it all out of her system, to stare at him until the pressure of her giddiness eased enough for her to act like a normal human being. The setting didn't help. She had moved into Bellamy's tent right away when they returned from their picnic. They had both been too impatient for games. Now their jackets hung over matching wooden chairs, and her pencils mixed with his tools on the table. It was just a tent. It was just the start of their lives together.

'Clarke,' Bellamy said, waking her from her trance. 'I'm not going to hug you, because I promised to sit still, but just pretend that I am.'

'Okay?'

'I'm a master storyteller. There are half a dozen little brats out there that would tell you so.'

'Yes,' Clarke agreed. Bellamy had started a ritual of reading bedtime stories around the campfire to the few children of Arkadia. It was the most adorable thing she had ever seen. The kids loved it, and Monty and Jasper had a blast acting out the parts.

'So trust me when I tell you that this is the part of the story called the happily-ever-after.'

Clarke gave him a wry look.

'It's ridiculous and cheesy, but I also believe that it's true. This is our happily-ever-after. If you want to smile, and to bask in the sunlight, don't hold back. This is what happy looks like. We get to be happy now Clarke.'

She let his words sink in. Happy. She wasn't an idiotic blushing fool, she was just happy. She put down the sketch-book. 'Bellamy,' she said slowly. 'You can move now.'

He practically pounced forward, and the force of it knocked them both off the narrow bed, where they hit the floor hard.

She picked up her pillow from the bed and slammed it into his shoulder. 'Not like that!'

He grabbed his own pillow and hit her over the head in retaliation. 'Then you should have been more specific! I was just obeying orders.'

'Then I order you to sit still again so I can murder you!' Clarke attacked him with a flurry of quick swipes.

Soon they were in an all-out war, screaming nonsense at each other.

'And you ate the last strawberry!'

'You hogged the blanket last night!'

'You weren't cuddling tightly enough!'

'HEY!'

They both turned to the flap of the tent to confront the intruder.

'What on Earth are you two doing?' Octavia asked, hands on her hips.

'We're being happy!' Bellamy threw his pillow, which hit Octavia squarely in the face. She watched it fall to the ground with a blank expression.

'Okay then,' Octavia said, backing out.

A few seconds later they heard her yelling outside. 'It's alright everyone, false alarm! They were just play fighting like morons. Disperse! Back to your chores! The King and Queen of Arkadia still reign!'

Bellamy and Clarke burst into laughter. When they finally settled down, they put the pillows on the floor and laid down facing each other.

Clarke nudged Bellamy's shoulder. 'She's on her way to happily-ever-after too, you know.'

'I hope so,' Bellamy said. 'I hope they all are.'

Clarke thought about how far they had come, that Bellamy "whatever-the-hell-we-want" Blake could admit out loud to hoping for a bright and shiny future. 'Is it weird that it feels more scary to be responsible for their happiness than it did to have their lives in our hands?'

Bellamy sighed. 'I would tell you that we aren't responsible for their happiness, but neither of us would believe that. All we can do is try.'

'So, we fought a ferocious battle, we faced a wicked sister, and we have a gruelling quest lined up. What's next for our happily-ever-after?

Bellamy grinned. 'I believe we're at the part we're the knight gets to kiss the princess.'

Clarke had another fit of laughter, while Bellamy looked on, bemused.

'Alright. I was trying to be romantic. Would you prefer if I just said this is the part where we bang?'

And they all lived happily-ever-after.


End file.
